This is the final disc in the Naxos edition of the complete Tchaikovsky songs, which represent a little-known but highly characteristic facet of his musical personality. "Kazarnovskaya possesses a soprano rich in timbre and powerful in projection.

Alwyn' approach to writing for the piano was essentially that of a romantic, born out of the tradition exemplified by Liszt and Rachmaninov, through to the impressionism inherent in the music of Debussy and Ravel. Influences aside, however, Alwyn fou.

Although Liszt's solo-piano arrangement of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony certainly is a virtuosic tour-de-force, his two-piano transcription more successfully addresses the score's large dimensions in terms of textures, dynamics, color, and, in the finale, more audible distinction between choral and orchestral forces. Leon McCawley and Ashley Wass team up for its finest recording to date. Their headlong drive in the first movement evokes Toscanini's archetonic ferocity. The pianists underline harmonic clashes and contrapuntal felicities by way of color shifts, accentuation, and nuance rather than tempo fluctuation. The same goes for their soaring Scherzo (with both repeats intact), where the obsessive dotted rhythms are consistently supple and accurate.

While the duo maintains rigorous tempo relationships over the Adagio's brisk course, they avoid rigidity by way of discreet rubatos and tasteful lyrical inflections. It is not easy for two-piano teams to sustain long, loud episodes without forcing tone or losing rhythmic steam, yet McCawley and Wass wield the proverbial iron hands in mink gloves in their tightly knit, unified Finale. The sonics are slightly too resonant and bass shy, but the instruments are as well matched and balanced as the pianists. I hope Naxos already has enlisted these artists for Liszt's two-piano version of A Faust Symphony. Highly recommended.

--Jed Distler, ClassicsToday.com

These are light, charming pieces. Only one, the sixth and last, spends any time in minor keys, and three of the sonatas consist of two movements each. That said, there are more than a few fully worked out movements, structurally speaking, and the music seems ideally suited to the intimate timbre of the clavichord (sort of like a harpsichord without the sharp “twang”). Susan Alexander-Max plays very well indeed, ornamenting the music liberally but never excessively, and stroking the keys with the kind of sensitivity that produces numerous instances of those dynamic subtleties that made this instrument so popular, despite its evident limitations. She is also very attractively recorded, with an absolute minimum of mechanical noise (some clavichord recordings feature more clicking and squeaking than musical tone). Definitely worth investigating.

-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

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The decision by Naxos to record the six op. 5 sonatas of Johann Christian Bach on the clavichord is a brave one. Even more so than the harpsichord, the clavichord is likely to polarise listeners. In modern parlance its tone might be characterised as 'in-your-face' - neon strip-lighting against the natural daylight of a grand piano.
 
But one thing the soft action of the clavichord does ensure is a sense of intimacy, which is apt for these almost sensual sonatas. Recording quality here is generally good, despite the fact that the very nature of the mechanics of the clavichord makes its sound rather elusive. Probably for that reason it has been recorded quite closely. At least the church setting coaxes as much resonance out of the instrument as it is willing to give.
 
Background noise is minimal, except, strangely, in the final Sonata, where there is something very odd going on 'underneath' the recording, as it were. It’s a kind of eerily distorted feedback giving the impression of a neighbour's turned-up television set heard through a wall! Once noticed it is quite distracting, and frankly the producer needs to answer some questions.
 
Bach published these works in 1766 as Six Sonatas for the Harpsichord or the Fortepiano, Op. 5. These were the very first pieces published in London for the newly emergent piano, and Bach is also credited with the first piano recital in public. According to Susan Alexander-Max's liner-notes, dynamic markings, such as frequent piano and forte, indicate a distinct leaning towards the latter instrument of Bach's title. By this time he was already adopting the new square piano by manufacturers Zumpe as his keyboard instrument of preference. Pianists of the period would nevertheless still often have used a clavichord in the home for composition and practice. That is Alexander-Max's justification for performing these works on the clavichord, a 2006 model based on a 1785 instrument.
 
Mozart greatly admired Bach's music, and his own early works are clearly influenced by it. In fact, the young Mozart was so taken with Bach's op. 5 that he recomposed nos. 2, 3 and 4 into an early piano concerto, KV.107. The works are generally in three movements, though nos. 1 and 4 are in an old-school two. By this time Bach was well into his cosmopolitan galant period, as these elegant, nuanced works can testify. The opening theme of Sonata no.6 bears a brief but striking resemblance to the famous Russian folksong, "Dark Eyes". By the end of the movement it has morphed into a melancholy Neapolitan-like song of love lost. By this time the bizarre background noise is all too evident.
 
Alexander-Max's technique is superb on this unforgiving instrument, and she extracts considerable expressiveness from it in the service of Bach's suave, sophisticated music. 74 minutes is a long time to spend listening without a break to the clavichord. In smaller sessions of, say, two sonatas a go, the unique sonorities of this instrument, coupled with the brilliance and imagination of Bach's music, make this an almost irresistible bargain - were it not for the recording quality lapse.
 
-- Byzantion, MusicWeb International 

Haydn’s keyboard music was at first written for the harpsichord, with later works clearly intended for the pianoforte, as dynamic markings show. His career coincided with changes in the standard keyboard instrument, as the fortepiano and then the pianoforte, with their hammer action and dynamic possibilities, gradually replaced the harpsichord and clavichord. At the same time there was a parallel change in instrumental forms, as the structure that has come to be known, among other titles, as sonata-allegro form, developed.

Unlike Mozart, a virtuoso soloist in his own piano concertos, Haydn had the usual competence of a successful professional musician of his time, able to lead the orchestras he directed from the violin, or, more commonly, from the keyboard. The demands on each composer were very different, with Mozart, particularly in the last decade of his life in Vienna, relying on his reputation as a performer and arranging his own subscription concerts, and Haydn, employed by a princely patron, with an orchestra and a theatre at his disposal, with the concomitant duties and relative security.

Before entering the service of the Esterházys Haydn had written works designed for keyboard, either harpsichord or organ, and a simple string ensemble. These now generally bear the title Concertino. The three concertos, the Concerto in F major, Hob.XVIII:3, Concerto in G major, Hob.XVIII:4 and Concerto in D major, Hob.XVIII:11, belong to a later period in Haydn’s career, a time when he was established at the palace of Eszterháza. The first of these, the Concerto in F major, was written before 1771, even as early as 1766, the date assigned to it in Haydn’s work catalogue, and the second, the Concerto in G major, Hob.XVIII:4, about 1770. Both concertos were originally scored for strings, with the horn parts in the outer movements of the Concerto in F major an apparently contemporary addition. The Concerto in G major was played in Paris in 1784 by the blind pianist Maria Theresia Paradis and was published there by Boyer, with revisions seemingly by the publisher, accretions now removed. It is scored for the usual orchestra of two oboes, two horns and strings.

The Concerto in D major, Hob.XVIII:11, similarly scored and now with the title Concerto per il clavicembalo o fortepiano, as opposed the designation ‘Oper il clavicembalo’ of the other two concertos, was once thought to be of doubtful authorship, its authenticity eventually confirmed by the discovery of a letter by Haydn to the French publisher Boyer, written in November 1784. An announcement of the new concerto by Boyer on 6th July 1784 provides a terminus ante quem non, and it was published in that year by Artaria in Vienna, by Boyer and Le Menu in Paris, by Hummel in Berlin and Amsterdam, and by Longman and Broderip in London. The work obviously enjoyed wide popularity, judging by the surviving copies from the period and its wide published dissemination. Particularly effective is the last movement, with its Hungarian Rondo. It might be added that the appearance of the Concerto in G major and the Concerto in D major aroused some contemporary scepticism, at a time when the attribution of lesser works to the famous Joseph Haydn had become too frequent.

The authenticity of the Concerto in G major, Hob.XVIII:9, has been doubted with greater justification. No original sources survive and the work was not entered into Haydn’s work-list, it is listed, however, in the Breitkopf catalogue of 1767, which at least provides a possible date before which it might have been composed. The relatively long minor key slow movement is an unusual feature for Haydn, and the concerto is scored, like the concertinos of Haydn, for harpsichord, two violins and bass.

The cadenzas for Concertos Hob.XVIII:3, 4 and 9 played here are by Sebastian Knauer, and those for Concerto Hob.XVIII:11 by Paul Badura-Skoda.

Keith Anderson

A golden opportunity to make the acquaintance of some of the most spirited music of the late 18th century.

Domenico Cimarosa is regarded as one of the foremost Italian opera composers during the second part of the 18th century. He vied with Salieri and Paisiello, the latter said to have been intriguing against Cimarosa, just as there is said to have been animosity between Mozart and Salieri. Cimarosa grew up near Naples, where his family later moved. There he was able to get a good education, not only in music. When he was 23 he got his first commission to write an opera, a buffa entitled Le stravaganze del conte, the overture to which is on this disc. It was a success, as was his next essay in the genre. Soon he was sought after throughout Italy. In the mid-1780s he moved to Florence and in 1787 received an invitation from Empress Catherine II of Russia to come to St Petersburg, where he stayed four years. In 1792 he moved to Vienna on an invitation from Emperor Leopold II and there produced his masterpiece, Il matrimonio segreto, which is regarded as one of the best buffa operas ever. Today his reputation rests practically only on this work, which is still performed. It is also famous in the history books for being so appreciated by the Emperor that the company had to reprise the whole work the same evening. This disc presents the overture in a world premiere recording of the Vienna version which is longer than the established version.

Cimarosa later returned to Naples, where he was politically active in the liberal party and was condemned to death. Through influential friends this sentence was commuted to banishment. He planned to go back to St Petersburg but his health deteriorated quickly and he died in Venice in 1801.

His list of works is impressive and only his operas, most of them in the buffa genre, come to close to one hundred. Even though most of them are forgotten today there are occasional revivals. I was lucky enough to catch a performance of Il mereato di Malmantile in Dubrovnik more than thirty years ago. There I also heard and saw the short intermezzo giocoso Il maestro di cappella for bass-baritone and orchestra, hilariously sung and acted by the great Sesto Bruscantini.

Cimarosa’s music is light and melodic, very often with a joyous atmosphere. He was a skilled orchestrator, even though he lacked the individuality and the psychological insight of Mozart. On the surface the two are rather similar and Mozart lovers should find Cimarosa to their liking.

The twelve overtures on this disc – and there is obviously more to come since this one is marked ‘vol. 1’ – are mainly lively and energetic and make a good evening’s listen. It is not wall-paper music, since there are always attractive things to keep the listener alert. It can be an unexpected turn of a phrase here or a sudden general pause. It is no wonder, to judge from the overture, that his debut opera Le stravaganze del conte, became a success, since it is truly infectious, fizzing along at rollicking speed. The Matrimonio segreto overture starts surprisingly solemn for a buffa with the first chords sounding almost like Die Zauberflöte, but then Cimarosa lets his hair down in his accustomed manner. This Vienna version differs in several ways from what we normally hear: among other things there is an oboe solo as the second theme which was omitted later. For a good recording of that version – and a superb reading of the complete opera – I strongly recommend Barenboim’s recording on DG (review).

For Il ritorno di Don Calendrino Cimarosa composed an extra long overture, partly through recycling the overture from L’Armida imaginara and adding two new movements, a beautiful Andantino and a spirited concluding Allegro.

There is enough variation in the music to allow the disc to spin until the end without the need for a pause – partly of course since it spans a period of twenty years, during which the composer undoubtedly developed. High-spirited most of it is but he also writes a slow mid-section in the Il convito overture, where there is a fine French horn solo.

Alessandro Amoretti is well versed in the music of this period and Esterházy Sinfonia is a splendid modern instrument ensemble. The producer/engineer couple Ibolya Tóth and János Bohus have also done a good job with the sonics.

Since there is probably little chance to hear these overtures live and since other recordings are in short supply this is a golden opportunity to make the acquaintance of some of the most spirited music of the late 18th century.

-- Göran Forsling, MusicWeb International

Barto is the most eloquent of them all.

Robert Barto’s distinguished Weiss recordings for Naxos have now reached volume nine. As before he demonstrates a wide range of tone colours, immaculate technical address and an unerring appreciation of Weiss’ quasi-improvisational style. The result is a trio of performances that in every way meets the expectations now placed in the lutenist. And if none of these works approaches the majesty of those contained in, say volume seven of the series (see review) then one must also concede that they nevertheless contain all those elements that make Weiss so noble, so expressive and so powerfully important a composer in this milieu.

The C minor sonata, cast in six movements, is by some way the longest and grandest of the three here. The extensive French overture is beautifully nuanced in all three of its sections, Barto’s technical armoury entirely equal to the demands placed on it and his colouristic sense fully engaged from the start. The Campanella-like Bourée sees him emphasise the bell like articulation implicit within it and he does so with brilliant articulation. As ever he plays Weiss’s slow movement with affecting lyricism; the most impressive in this set is the Siciliana of this C minor, which is taken at a suitably slow tempo. The concerto-like flourishes of the Presto finale are despatched with aplomb, the writing rich and externalised, and the playing virtuosic.

The F major [No.32] is an earlier work written conjecturally some time between 1720 and 1725. It’s performed in the Dresden version as three copies survive, representing two different versions. Its Allemande is refined and leisurely and full of decorative assurance but for me the highlight is the Bourée. Not only is this an example of Weiss at his most uplifting but it also reveals some of Barto’s great strengths – an ability to infuse the music with the most buoyant and immaculate rhythmic incisiveness allied to great warmth of tonal resources. These qualities are heightened by the succeeding cantabile of the Sarabande and by the Gigue that concludes the sonata. One of the revisions undertaken by Weiss was to replace a Gigue in 6/8 with one in 9/8 and the result is engaging and buoyant.

The final work stands at a slight remove from its companions. The G minor No.94 derives from a manuscript in the Glinka Museum in Moscow, music conjecturally brought to Russia from Dresden by Weiss’ pupil Bielogradsky. Whatever the exact origin or derivation it’s a small, charming series of dances with a delightful Paisane and a rare, early use of the Polonaise in its penultimate movement.

The recording, made in St Andrew’s Church, Toddington, is once again first class and Tim Crawford’s notes enhance this characteristically fine disc. Barto has competitors in Weiss recordings – Imamura and Lindberg among them - but for my money he is the most eloquent of them all, and this comprehensive series is a tribute to his skill and involvement.

Jonathan Woolf, MusicWeb International

By all accounts Wilhelm Friedemann Bach was the greatest organist of his time in Germany. The music critic Christian Friedrich Daniel Schubart stated: "Undoubtedly the greatest organist of the world! He is a son of the world-famous Sebastian Bach and has reached - if not surpassed - his father's virtuosity." He then goes on to describe his features: "a fiery genius, a creative imagination, originality and inventiveness, a stormy quickness, and the magical power to enchant every heart with his play on the organ". Bach's oeuvre for the organ bears witness to that description, and it is a great shame that so little of his art has come down to us.

The CPO disc promises us "the complete organ works" by Wilhelm Friedemann Bach. This has to be taken with a grain of salt. To begin with, it is not easy to make a clear distinction between pieces for any keyboard and compositions specifically intended for the organ. Obviously pieces for two manuals and pedal can only be played at the organ. Those include the seven chorale preludes and the two Fugues in F and g minor respectively which Friedhelm Flamme included in his recording. Inexplicably he did not include the Fugue in F (F 36 / A 91) which Julia Brown has recorded. On the other hand Flamme plays several pieces which don't require a pedal; these include the Fantasias in d minor and c minor which open and respectively close, his programme. Also no pedal is required in the Eight Fugues (F 31 / A 81-88), but here Friedemann has specifically indicated that they can be played either at the "Clavier" (any keyboard without pedals) or the organ.

Although these two discs contain duplications, they also complement each other in that both offer pieces which don't appear on the other disc. The two Fantasias I have just mentioned are absent from Julia Brown's disc - she played them at the harpsichord on Naxos 8.570530 - whereas she included various fugues which are not in the two catalogues of Wilhelm Friedemann Bach's oeuvre. The reason is that they are not considered authentic. It is rather odd that this is not mentioned in the liner-notes. Authentic or not, it is nice to have them available, even though they have been recorded before - for instance by Leo van Doeselaar on Etcetera KTC 2503, 1984.

One can understand that they are considered doubtful, as some are very baroque in style and not very different from Johann Sebastian's fugues. The Fugue in B flat (track 16) is a good example. But that in itself doesn't tell against their authenticity. Listening to the chorale preludes one will notice their rooting in a past even before J.S. The cantus firmus is virtually unornamented, and Friedemann makes use of so-called Vorimitation in which the chorale melody is anticipated in the other voices. It was not only used by Sebastian but is also a feature of the chorale preludes by Johann Pachelbel (1653-1706). Other fugues begin in a rather old-fashioned manner but then turn towards the fashion of the time towards the end. This is typical of Wilhelm Friedemann who in his oeuvre moves to and fro between the various styles of his time.

The number of fugues he composed is remarkable and this is considered one of the reasons he fell from grace towards the end of his career. The form of the fugue had become largely obsolete, and when Friedemann attempted to get the Eight Fugues printed, publishers refused. These are very likely characteristic of his style of playing, and that could well have been the reason that in the last stage of his life he wasn't in much demand as an organist any more. It is assumed that he mostly improvised during his public concerts; that is probably the reason so little organ music by him has been preserved.

The duplications allow us to compare the interpretations of these two organists which are quite different. A look at the track-lists reveals that Julia Brown is consistently slower than Friedhelm Flamme. It is mostly not possible to decide which tempo is right. The Fugue in F (F 33 / A 90), for instance, works in both performances quite well. The slower reading by Julia Brown lends it a kind of gravity and seriousness which suits its character as it is reminiscent of the fugues in Sebastian's Well-tempered Clavier. Elsewhere the slow tempo works against the music, for instance in the Fugue in c minor (track 6) where the trills are unnatural. One could probably characterise Ms Brown's performances as analytical: every detail is exposed, thanks not only to the relatively slow tempi but also the registration which is mostly modest and allows for every single voice to be followed.

The differences between these two discs are also due to the organs. Julia Brown plays an instrument built by Paul Fritts and Company in 1999, which was clearly inspired by the German baroque organ. Friedhelm Flamme also plays a modern organ by Martin Hillebrand dating from 2008. Here new stops have been built in the style of the 18th century, particularly based on the disposition of the organ by Christian Vater which was built in this church in the 1730s. Some pipework from the organ Carl Giesecke had built in the same church in the 1860s has been incorporated into this organ. Because of that the sound is quite different, mellower and less penetrating than the sound of the organ Julia Brown plays. I don't want to choose between them. The Eight Fugues come off beautifully at the Hillebrand. So do the chorale preludes, but in these somewhat old-fashioned pieces the Fritts organ is probably closer to what Bach had at his disposal in his earlier years.

Both booklets leave something to be desired. I have already identified that the doubtful authenticity of several pieces in Julia Brown's recording is not mentioned. Otherwise the liner-notes are not very specific about the various pieces. The CPO booklet contains some general information about Wilhelm Friedemann as an organist, but little analysis of the music. The track-lists should have given the numbers in Peter Wollny's catalogue as well, in particular as Falck's catalogue is out of date. I have added them on the basis of the work-list in New Grove.

Both recordings have their merits and those who have an interest in Wilhelm Friedemann's music shouldn't miss either of them.

-- Johan van Veen, MusicWeb International

GINASTERA Pampeana No. 2. 5 canciones populares argentinas (arr. Kosower). Puneña No. 2, “Homage à Paul Sacher.” Cello Sonata • Mark Kosower (vc); Jee-Won Oh (pn) • NAXOS 8.570569 (52:10)


Ginastera was one of those composers who, in continually evolving and experimenting, could not easily be pinned down stylistically. His famous Harp Concerto, written for Osian Ellis, is as different from his stark, atonal opera Bomarzo (still one of the neglected masterpieces of the 20th century) as night is from day. Yet despite his evolution, he did break his music into three styles: objective nationalism, subjective nationalism, and neo-Expressionism. Cellist Mark Kosower presents all three styles here by transcribing the Cinco canciones populares (“Five Popular Songs”), music of objective nationalism, from their original voice setting to the cello. The CD, however, starts with a subjective work, the Pampeana No. 2 , in which folk music is never actually quoted but suggested in his original themes. Compressing four sections into one continuous piece lasting only nine minutes, Ginastera tried to capture the alternating feelings of ebullience, awe, and melancholy that crossing the pampas evoked in him. It is a marvelous piece, played with tremendous élan by Kosower and Oh.


I found this transcription of the five popular Argentine songs to be effective but not entirely convincing as cello music. It’s the sort of piece that I’m sure I would enjoy in a live concert setting, but listening on record, I found myself becoming restless. Some of this, however, stems from Oh’s piano accompaniment, which I found carefully crafted but emotionally cold. Kosower plays with warmth of tone and generous spirit, but these are still songs. I want to hear a voice, I want to hear words. Falla’s Popular Spanish Songs works for the violin; these do not translate quite as well, at least not for me.


Ginatsera’s neo-Expressionist period, his last and longest (1958–1983), is the one that includes both the unaccompanied Puneña No. 2 and the Cello Sonata. The first work is intended to capture the feelings of the mysterious world of the Inca Empire, and is divided into two movements, a melancholy love song (“Harawi”) and a wild carnival dance (“Wayno karnavalito”). I personally found Kosower’s performance of the first movement to be lacking in atmosphere. Whether this is due to the actual music or merely his interpretation of it is difficult to determine. In the second movement, Kosower has great energy for the Argentinean rhythms, and the highly imaginative writing (including octave glisses into the stratosphere and rapid finger triplets) brings out some wonderful effects on the cello. This was, for me, one of the highlights of the entire recital, and I was sorry when it was over.


The Cello Sonata is a real masterpiece in every respect. From its opening jagged rhythms to the sizzling finale, this is a work that constantly entertains as it challenges the listener. Despite an almost constant use of bitonality and tone clusters, there is an almost modal feeling to the first movement—at least, until the music melts down into the collegamento section. The music still hovers around tone clusters, but its range is tightly circumscribed. The second movement, an Adagio passionato, is extremely odd. To begin with, the music moves at a snail’s pace, more of a Lento than an Adagio. For another, there is no forward propulsion at all. In a way, this sounds like subconscious music, very close to the effects created by “automatic composers.” Every phrase sounds as if it were being improvised into being—at least, until the piano begins a more energetic rumbling, followed later on by dramatic singing, flourishes, and suspenseful silences in the cadenza. The third movement, Presto mormoroso, is a murmuring piece that begins with a note here and there, the instruments alternating as if in dialogue. Both instruments climb into the upper registers as piano flourishes suspend time at the movement’s midpoint. The change in pitch begins the musical inversion; at the cello’s reentry, the two instruments play in retrograde back to the beginning, disappearing into nothingness. The final movement is an uninhibited romp, starting in marcato clusters before moving into wild passages combining sonata form with a toccata and complex interplay between the two instruments. As Kosower puts it in the liner notes, “The explosive nature of the music is fueled by syncopated dance rhythms including the Karnavalito, obsessive running sixteenth notes, sudden shifts in material, and a boldness of character.”


Overall, the performance of the Sonata is quite good; even pianist Oh plays with more boldness than on the other pieces. It is certainly finer than the poorly recorded version by Carter Brey and Christopher O’Riley (Helicon) and, in the recording by the Sonata’s dedicatee, Aurora Natola (Pierian), her superb work is undercut by the rhythmically driving but lead-footed playing of pianist Barbara Nissman. I feel that the other performances could be improved on somewhat, but this is still an interesting disc and a good place to start in these works.

FANFARE: Lynn René Bayley

The suites offered here present the intimate, domestic aspect of Buxtehude’s keyboard art. In each case, the allemande is the weightiest element, “the proposition in a musical suite, from which the corrente, sarabande and gique [sic] flow as parts”, in the words of Buxtehude’s grandstudent Martin Heinrich Fuhrmann. Indeed, the openings of Buxtehude’s correnti often follow the melodic contour of the allemande, and in the case of the Suite in F major, BuxWV 238, the corrente approaches an actual variation of it. The Ryge manuscript usually spells this movement “Courent” in a curious mixture of French and Italian; in fact Buxtehude usually follows the Italian corrente, with its lightly running quaver motion, rather than the more subtle French courante. Fuhrmann characterizes the sarabande as an “instrumental aria, usually eight measures, going slowly in triple”, and this is the shortest and simplest movement of a Buxtehude suite. Two of the present suites (BuxWV 226 and 233) offer a second sarabande that is not a double, or variation, of the first. The second sarabande of BuxWV 233 has a distinctly vocal quality, as opposed to the more instrumental stile brisé of the first. The gigues in Buxtehude’s suites have a more contrapuntal texture than the other movements, but they are not strictly fugal, usually dissolving into homophony after a few entrances. It is through the gigue, however, that the dance makes itself most strongly felt in the other genres of Buxtehude’s keyboard music.

The set of three variations named simply Aria, BuxWV 249, are based on the sarabande. Its second and third variations contain written-out varied repetitions of each of the sections of the binary form, demonstrating how Buxtehude might actually have performed those repetitions that he normally indicated only with repeat marks.

Buxtehude’s chorale settings for keyboard are preserved mainly in manuscripts compiled by Johann Gottfried Walther, organist in Weimar and cousin of J. S. Bach. Although most of them require two manuals and pedal, a few do not, and there is no reason why they should be confined to the church organ. One in particular seems appropriate for performance on the harpsichord: the Partita: Auf meinen lieben Gott, BuxWV 179. Here Buxtehude combines three genres, the dance suite, the variation set, and the chorale setting, to produce an unusual hybrid form, consisting of Allemande (unnamed), Double, Courante, Sarabande, and Gigue. Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern, BuxWV 223, belongs to the genre of the chorale fantasy, in which each phrase of a chorale melody is developed rather extensively in a different manner. Here too the gigue makes a prominent appearance, concluding the work in a fugal treatment of the entire melody.

Buxtehude’s free keyboard works - those independent of a preexisting melody or dance pattern - are mainly transmitted in manuscripts that include both pedaliter and manualiter works. Among these, his most original and justly famous works are praeludia and toccatas in the stylus phantasticus, which intermingles highly unpredictable free sections in virtuosic and idiomatic keyboard styles with more structured fugal sections. Since organists naturally prefer the pedaliter works, those for manuals alone are much less frequently performed, thus offering rich opportunities to adventurous harpsichordists. Even in these free works one can find elements of dance and variation. In place of a second fugue, the Toccata in G major, BuxWV 165, contains a brief passage of ostinato variations that are faintly reminiscent of Pachelbel’s famous canon. Buxtehude may have conceived his canzonas as teaching pieces; they are all manualiter works, and students most often practised on the clavichord or harpsichord. They are variously titled canzon, canzonet, or fuga and consist either of a single fugue (BuxWV 225) or of three related fugues (BuxWV 166 and 176) in the manner of the variation canzona inherited from Frescobaldi and Froberger. The gigue makes an appearance yet again as the second fugue of BuxWV 166.

Kerala Snyder

Lively, tonally varied performances … a very attractive sound.

This is volume two of the Naxos reissue of Lars Ulrik Mortensen’s Buxtehude series. It previously appeared on Dacapo. This particular volume was Dacapo 8.224117.

Mortensen is a fine musician, whose approach to Buxtehude is vivacious and dignified in equal proportions. His Buxtehude has both passion and seriousness - but not solemnity - of mind. Mortensen makes sparkling use of the resources of his instrument, a copy by Thomas Mandrup-Poulsen of an original by Ruckers. Though the notes to this present CD give no further details, it sounds like the beautifully-toned instrument, made in 1984, which Mortensen played on some of his Bach recordings (CPO 999 989-2) and Froberger (Kontrapunkt 32040). It sings delightfully – at least it does when played by Mortensen! The use of mean-tone tuning will surely disturb very few modern listeners.

The theme of the set of variations on More Palatino (not More Palantino as printed on the back cover) is a student drinking song, though the rather stately form in which Buxtehude presents it is not especially redolent of the tavern. Still, it is an attractive and melodically various set, Mortensen’s varying use of registration producing some charming effects and some insistently dancing rhythms. The same is true of a second set of variations played here, those on Courant Zimble – a title we might translate as ‘Simple Courante’, and aptly so, since it is an uncomplicated piece which invites – and gets – some direct and appealing variations from Buxtehude. Mortensen resists the temptation to over-inflate these or make any excessive claims for them.

Each of the two Suites is made up four movements, in the order Allemande-Courante-Sarabande-Gigue. In each work the allemande is the most substantial movement, considerably longer than any of the other three movements. The allemandes also tend to have a greater musical gravity, that which opens Bux WV 242 being particularly grand in manner and phrasing; the courantes have, by way of contrast, a rippling vitality, that in Bux WV 25 being full of pleasant twists and turns. Buxtehude’s sarabandes have a graceful simplicity about them, a quality heard to perfection in Mortensen’s performances of the two in these suites, especially that in the E minor suite, where the registration is beautifully judged and employed. The gigues of the two suites make more much use of counterpoint, especially in comparison to the simpler lines of the sarabandes which precede them. But these are by no means academic fugues and in both suites the final movements very forcefully remember the dance origins of the gigue.

All of the shorter pieces in this programme have their genuine attractions and all are well characterised by Mortensen. The chorale ‘Nun lob, mein Seel, den Herren’ is more often heard on the organ, although it makes no requirements that the harpsichord can’t fulfil – as Mortensen persuasively demonstrates. Indeed there is a particular sprightliness to this reading that is distinct from anything that can be achieved on the baroque organ and which offers an alternative, equally valid, view of the music. Bux WV 170, 171 and 174 are pieces which survive amongst the manuscripts of Buxtehude’s organ music but which, again, are eminently playable on the harpsichord. The fugal writing here is more ‘correct’ than in the gigues of the suites, but don’t let that make you imagine that these are unduly staid pieces. Here they have the same vivacity which characterises this programme as a whole and they are played with the same loving care for the aptness of instrumental sound and tone.

Without wanting to claim Mortensen’s as the ‘best’ recordings of Buxtehude’s harpsichord works – if one had to pick I suppose the vote might go to Ton Koopman – there is not the slightest reason to feel in any way dissatisfied with this fine recital. If you don’t know Buxtehude’s writing for harpsichord – this is an excellent value-for-money place to start; if you are already an aficionado of this repertoire you will surely be just as keen to add this to your collection.

-- Glyn Pursglove, MusicWeb International

The names Bach and Buxtehude are inextricably linked in that the young German was deeply influenced by the older Danish keyboard virtuoso and Werkmeister. In fact, following his visit to Denmark in 1705, he allowed that, in retrospect, he had gone to hear Buxtehude "in order to comprehend one thing and another about his art". That this is in itself rather striking commentary from arguably the greatest composer in the history of Western Classical Music cannot be denied and speaks volumes on the importance of Buxtehude in evaluating the early Baroque period.
Diapason d'Or winner Lars Ulrik Mortensen, well known for his collaborations with John Holloway and Jaap ter Linden, among others, brings to Buxtehude's music a unique blend of virtuosity and scholarship in the area of performance practice. His playing, while astonishingly accurate and controlled, never gives the impression of being a calculated affair. His informed music making is inspired and breathes fresh life into every bar of this oeuvre. Worthy of note is Mortensen's handling of the cadenza-like arpeggio section in the Prelude in G Major; the building effect is breathtaking, the resolution exultant.
Gramophone (1/00, p. 85) - "...[Mortensen] arranges his programmes
effectively to illustrate the wide range of Buxtehude's art, though the
contrapuntal facility that drew Bach to trudge 200 miles to hear him is
everywhere apparent....enthusiastically recommended..."

Unfamiliar scores played with great conviction. A real treat.

Taneyev may not be high on most people's list of 19th-century Russian composers but that could change as this Naxos series progresses. The First and Third symphonies with the Novosibirsk orchestra under Thomas Sanderling - son of the illustrious Kurt - certainly impressed me and, if anything, this new release has heightened my admiration for composer and orchestra alike.

Taneyev's only opera, based on Aeschylus's Oresteia, was recorded by DG and Olympia some time ago, but neither version is in the current catalogue. Curiously, the overture was composed and performed several years before the opera was completed. It's a substantial piece in its own right, lasting around 20 minutes, and listeners may be forgiven for thinking they've stumbled on a little-known piece of Wagner or Richard Strauss. That said, this is more than musical mimicry, revealing a rich supply of motile Russian melodies and a symphonic sweep that wouldn't have disgraced Taneyev's great friend and mentor, Tchaikovsky. From that first Stygian string theme through to its restrained finale this overture is full of lovely touches; and even though there is a whiff of Scriabin in those aromatic harmonies Sanderling ensures they never cloy or overwhelm the senses.

Arguably the Act III Entr'acte is even more seductive - it certainly has a Straussian amplitude - which is probably why this piece was so popular during the composer's lifetime. I was particularly struck by the sheer passion and unanimity of the playing and Sanderling's firm, clear-eyed view of the score. The recording is just as satisfying, deep when it needs to be and suitably grand in the splendid climaxes. Indeed, any misgivings I might have had about this band and their conductor simply evaporated at this point.

How very different that all is to the delectable Adagio in C major, written during the composer's final year at the Moscow Conservatory. As Anastasia Belina points out in her liner notes, much of Taneyev's youthful work was only discovered years later. The Adagio, published in 1950, is a real gem, especially when it's played with such elegance and refinement. And how different again is the Overture on a Russian Theme, written for the All-Russian Art and Trade Exhibition of 1882. Taneyev makes use of authentic Russian songs - as collected by Rimsky-Korsakov - forging them into a piece that has all the cut and thrust of a Cossack sword. It's virile stuff, guaranteed to please those who like their Russians to strut and swagger.

The style of the cantata, written for the opening of the Pushkin Memorial in Moscow, is echoed in the celebratory music of post-revolutionary Russia, used to great effect by the likes of Prokofiev and Shostakovich. That's not to suggest this is merely a patriotic prole-pleaser, because it isn't; it may be just 64 bars long but it has all the passion and splendour of those great choral numbers in Alexander Nevsky. As for the Canzona it's a frothy little confection, complemented by the bright-toned playing of clarinettist Stanislav Yankovsky. A slight piece, perhaps, but enjoyable none the less.

The Overture in D minor, like the Adagio, is an early work and this time it shows. It has a bluff quality - and a tendency to outstay its welcome - that the other pieces in this collection manage to avoid. (I wonder if other listeners can hear Brahms in this music?) Still, one mildly disappointing piece out of seven isn't bad, and it certainly isn't enough to dilute my enthusiasm for this disc as a whole. Factor in committed playing and full-blooded sound and you have one of the year's most entertaining releases so far.

Go on, treat yourself.

-- Dan Morgan, MusicWeb International

Franz Xaver Richter actually wrote these symphonies before joining the celebrated group of composers and performers in the Mannheim court orchestra, but they are no less interesting for that. Two of these works (Nos. 10 and 12) follow the "church sonata" format in opening with a slow movement (out of four in total; all of the other symphonies have three). The quick second movement of No. 10 is a fugue, and a very good one, always an indication of the "learned" style. But even the theoretically lighter works are full of melodic and harmonic interest. The minor-key slow movements of Nos. 7 and 8, for example, really are gripping, and in the quick movements Richter strikingly anticipates Classical procedures by writing development sections that really do develop, exhibiting great tonal tension with no loss of coherence.

In short, these works are well worth getting to know, and happily the Helsinki Baroque Orchestra under Aapo Häkkinen plays them stylishly and with plenty of expressive force. The harpsichord continuo sounds a touch dry, but it happily doesn't overwhelm the larger string ensemble as so often happens in music of this period, turning the works into de facto keyboard concertos. Volume 1 in this set of 12 "Grandes Symphonies" already has been released, and it's equally fine, so if you're interested in the history of the classical symphony, and in that fascinating period in which the late Baroque mingled with the nascent style of Gluck (in "reform" mode), Haydn, and Mozart, then you will certainly want to hear this expressively pungent and attractive music.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

GE GAN-RU String Quartets: No. 1, “Fu”; No. 4, “Angel Suite”; No. 5, “Fall of Baghdad” • ModernWorks • NAXOS 8.570603 (60:44)


Prior to this review I’d read a short profile of the composer in the Times , and discovered for a substantial period of time he’d dropped out of sight to found a business that now supports him and allows him freedom to compose as he wishes. As such, he may be the “Chinese Charles Ives.” Whatever the reason, these three string quartets show his evolution over that time gap, with No. 1 from 1983, and Nos. 4 and 5 from 1998 and 2007, respectively.


No. 1, “Fu” (Prose Poem), is in a single movement, and while it uses a number of special techniques for strings, the influence of middle-period Bartók is most evident, at least to my ear. This was radical music in context for a young Chinese composer, but not necessarily for the outside world. But No. 4, “Angel Suite,” is an exceedingly rich and original piece. In a way, it shouldn’t be, as it references the Western classical tradition most overtly, and indeed has a strong scent of the last fin de siècle. But though I hear Debussy very strongly throughout (above all in the first movement), its movements—including a dark waltz and similarly unsettling march—remain so full of interesting ideas and details that a strong personality cannot help but emerge. I found this music totally engaging, with a “postmodern” take that was never ironic, facile, or pastichesque.


No. 5 is subtitled “The Fall of Baghdad.” In its reference to destruction “in time of war,” it’s an homage to George Crumb’s 1970 Black Angels, and it opens with similarly wrenching, screeching sounds. The second movement features an extended, distant viola melody that recalls a muzzein’s call to prayer, which after an interlude of sinister rhythms using col legno and pizzicato, returns to the stratosphere. The third, “Desolation,” has a heartrending violin solo over pianissimo chords that suggest the classic “voice crying in the wilderness.” (No more so than when dark crunching sounds are ripped from behind the instruments’ bridges.) While the work starts out a little too reminiscent of its inspiration, like all the works on this program, Ge is in the details. It takes a little time, but a new, personal music emerges without any enormous technical or stylistic breakthrough; this is actually an enormous accomplishment. And lest I sound too technical, the music’s conclusion is shattering. We’ve got real art here.


ModernWorks is a string quartet directed by cellist Madeline Shapiro. (The other players are Airi Yoshioka and Majuki Fukuhara, violins, and Veronica Salas, viola.) They interpret this music brilliantly, and they have done great service to music by advocating this creator. I hope this recording finds a large audience, or at least the right audience. This composer has something to say, and staying power.


FANFARE: Robert Carl